What a fucking night. And it wasn’t even ten yet.
7
MILA
I towel-driedmy hair after a shower as I stood in front of the mirror and wiped away the foggy surface to take in my reflection.
I was in a thin white T-shirt and gray baggy sweats that belonged to one of the brothers—I didn’t know who. I found them in the drawers this morning, and they looked like they would offer better protection than the shorts I usually wore.
I shook my head. I could have laughed at my own ridiculous thoughts.
As if anything could really protect me from these men. But aside from the late-night visits from Maverick my first three nights here, that one night I’d spent with Silas, and the fucking trip andwaxing, nothing had really happened.
I thought the waiting was worse, because now, all sorts of scenarios were popping into my head, and onlymostof them were bad.
There was still a stupid part of me that hoped it wouldn’t be so bad.
Or perhaps that was just my own mind, hoping for something foolish, as if to help protect my own sanity.
But that was probably the mind games they were playing on me. Somehow convincing me that my situation could be worse, and perhaps I should be—grateful.
I snorted and took in my clean skin, pink from the hot water.
I stayed in the shower far longer than I should have. I was hoping Maverick, should he come into my room tonight, would run out of patience waiting for me and just leave.
My thoughts were naïve. I made my way back into my bedroom after doing my nightly routine, and there was a huge man waiting for me on my bed.
He was still in his day clothes: a black suit minus the jacket, and a black dress shirt that molded to his form well. The tie was undone, and the sleeves were rolled up, showcasing the veiny, muscular forearms, plus a little bit of ink I told myself I was not fascinated by.
My eyes moved up and met his.
He still looked as formidable as ever, but his hair was mussed and his eyes were tired.
It seemed he’d had a long day.
I should not feel anything for this man, least of all sympathy.
Yet my heart pinched at the sight of him.
Like this, he looked more human—just like two days ago, when he’d carefully held me on his lap and let me listen to his heartbeat.
He needed to be careful.
The mask was being peeled away, and neither one of us wanted to see the man beneath the monster that was Maverick Tiernan.
His attention had been on me since I stepped foot out of the bathroom door, and when our eyes met, he patted the space beside him on the bed.
It looked like a request, but the glint in his eyes told me there was only one answer he would accept.
Slowly, I made my way over to him, my movements made awkward by the intent focus of his gaze on my body, as if he was stripping me of my clothes without even touching me.
I tilted my head to the side.
“Help me dress the wound, little monster.”
“Wound?” I asked. It wasn’t until the words left my mouth that I realized there was something off about his arm. Red seeped through the fabric and it took me a moment to make sense of what I saw.
I moved closer. “You’re bleeding.”
